


Appreciating Little Things

by rnorningstar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels/God aren't actually brother/sister/father/etc, Apparently the deities have the hots for Dean, Chean?, Duck?, Episode: s11e20 Don't Call Me Shurley, Headcanon warnings, I don't make the rules but here we are, It just depends on the angel, It's Dean/God let's be honest, M/M, Mentions of other Supernatural Characters - Freeform, Post-S11E20, Some Archangels/Angels feel more closely attached to their 'family' than others in various ways, They're just titles, mostly just fluff, s11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rnorningstar/pseuds/rnorningstar
Summary: After an eye-opening discussion with the Creator, Dean... still has more questions.
Relationships: Chuck Shurley & Dean Winchester, Chuck Shurley/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 29





	Appreciating Little Things

A lot of things were going through everyone’s heads.

For Dean, it was mostly questions. Mostly confusion, and mostly… in some strange way, betrayal. Was it even fair to feel like  _ God Himself _ betrayed you?

In a lot of ways, Dean decided that yes, yes it was. Time after time after time, Dean had loved and lost and recovered and ached to fix messes that weren’t even always his own.

Sure, the one they were currently in was his - his and his brother’s - but that didn’t mean all of them  _ were _ . The first big one - the Apocalypse - he and Sam had been manipulated into starting that. It was something that was a long, long time coming, and yet they had fixed it.   
  


Where was their happy ending? Where was God when his children were throwing cosmic-sized hissy fits?

Dean remembered where Chuck Shurley was: writing the story as it played out.

It felt like some big mockery to Dean, and… sure, maybe he  _ was _ only human. But he was a Goddamned  _ Winchester _ . He’d saved the world over and over again, and yet Chuck was reclining and waiting for the end to come to him.

If it didn’t mean the end of the entire world as they knew it, Dean had half a mind to let give him up to the cosmic deity who planned to consume Creation.

_ … But it would mean the end of the world as they knew it. _

Dean wasn’t exactly a complex man. He wasn’t a  _ hero _ , even if it fed his ego to know that. He was fueled by gluttony and selfishness and arrogance, but his heart was still in the right place. Most days, if asked if he would save the world, his answer would be reliant on whether or not it would save his brother.

And he supposed it did rely on that, always, so in a way, his answer would always be yes.

But this time, it was bigger than that. 

His answer was fueled by spite; which was fueled by the state of frustrating confusion that Amara - the aforementioned cosmic deity who planned to consume Creation - put him in.

So… yes. He would work to save the Goddamn world, even if it meant saving Lucifer, who was their only shot at this.

For now, though, in the settling dust of the conversation and collecting the people who can help them, Dean is alone with his thoughts. He’s in the state of mind where, instead of directly brewing on his thoughts, he’s disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling his guns as if that would do anything against the next Big Bad they were up against.

Until one, scruffy, unassuming being wanders past his open door, popcorn in his hand, and pauses.

“Dean?”

His name out of Chuck’s mouth nearly makes Dean jump out of his skin, and the glare Dean settles on God is one he only ever gives to someone who’s public enemy number one.

Chuck clears his throat. “Uh, okay. Just-- you look… well. Pissed,” the curly-haired deity motions with a hand, mouth half full of popcorn. Really classy for the Creator of the universe.

“No shit,” Dean responds, returning to his gun to finish assembling it.

There’s a beat of awkward silence, and then Chuck speaks up again.

“Yeah. So, you obviously have questions,” Chuck says.

“Oh, really? Still paying attention, then? Good to know,” Dean responds. 

In better days, Dean’s snappy remarks in response to Chuck’s attempts to console him might infuriate him, if not mildly impress him. Right now, it just feels… awkward.

“Let’s go talk,” Chuck decides. Before Dean can decline, they’re somewhere else entirely, and Dean has every urge to snap at Chuck, but he bites his tongue. For once.

Chuck motions to the bar. “Help yourself,” he says, rubbing his hands together briefly, before taking a breath. “So. You’re… clearly not having a great time, knowing… well, I’m  _ Me _ ,” Chuck says, wringing the hands of his vessel together, before moving to follow a malcontented Dean to the bar.

“Can’t possibly imagine why,” the elder Winchester replies, “Sammy might be head over heels, but I’m not. How the hell could I be?” Dean asks, as if challenging.

“... Well. I never.. really asked you to be,” Chuck pointed out, as always, slightly cheeky.

Dean rolls his eyes as he’s passed a chilled glass. “It does bother you, though,” Dean decided, with no proof, before he goes to pour himself a glass of beer on tap. Chuck is silent. “Amara’s decided she’s claimed me, and it bothers you that I’m not kissing your shoes and asking stupid questions like ‘what about ears?’” Dean’s voice goes into the timbre where he’s mocking his brother, before he takes a big gulp from the glass in his hand.

Admittedly, better than what he usually drinks. Still not starstruck by a cosmic deity who has proven time and time again that He doesn’t care.

“... You’re asking questions about why I wasn’t there. Why I haven’t helped,” Chuck started, “You already asked these, Dean. I can’t… answer the same questions with different answers, you know. You asked for the truth, and I gave it.”

“Well your damn truth isn’t good enough,” Dean snapped, setting the glass down with a thud. Chuck furrows his brow, but he doesn’t seem angry. “I get it. You don’t want to do your damn job. You don’t want to take responsibility for the pets you’ve adopted, you just want the adoration from them,” the human gritted out, voice loud in the bar, the music having quieted down to silence. “I don’t care where you’ve  _ been _ , Chuck, I’m pissed because you’ve let Sam and Cas and everyone else in my damn life believe you  _ were _ there, when you weren’t! Hell,  _ I’ve _ prayed to your scruffy ass before!” Dean exclaimed.

Chuck is eerily silent for a moment after Dean’s outburst.

He’s… almost thinking, it seems.

It makes the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck raise.

And then He speaks: “I’m here, now.”

“For how long?” Dean retorts, as if expecting that answer.

“I don’t know,” Chuck replies.

Both parties lapse into a moment of silence. Dean’s anger has dissipated, at least for the time being, and Chuck seems… almost ashamed. Still  _ accepting _ that he’s weeks, if not days from death. From the end of all of this. Almost relieved.

And out of everything, Chuck Shurley and Dean Winchester can relate on some level: throughout their life, the good they’ve done is drowned out by primarily disappointment.

They’re silent, accepting each other’s company in peace, and it’s not an awkward silence like it should be.

Chuck’s the first one to get up, ever easily bored, the music in the bar beginning to play. Dean doesn’t look up from his third glass, swirling the amber liquid in the bottom of it. When Chuck’s hand settles on Dean’s shoulder, Dean doesn’t jump. He just lets out a sigh, leaving the glass on the table.

“Let me be here while I am,” Chuck offers.

Dean agrees.


End file.
